


Love's An Anarchist

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Masturbation, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-31
Updated: 2006-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The third in the Cartography series. Remus and George join Ron and Hermione for a holiday in Monaco, then it's back to the grindstone. Something happens to George at the Drombeg standing stones in Ireland, and it takes multiple people to figure out what's going on.





	Love's An Anarchist

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: ~"Love's An Anarchist" comes from a poem by Kurt Brobeck and is used with permission.  
~"I'd crawl to you baby and I'd fall at your feet," "If you want a partner, take my hand" and "I'm your man" are all from the fabulous song I'm Your Man by Leonard Cohen.  
~"To live with wolves, howl like wolves" is from a 2002 Russian Proverb calendar a friend gave me a couple of years ago.  
~"Things which cast no shadow" is from the poem _Poen_ by Leonard Cohen.  
~ _Sumain súil_ should roughly translate to "summon sun" in Middle Irish; _Súanem suthainn,_ should roughly translate to "(rope) twisting eternal." My thought was that the binding spell would be braided into the seaweed armbands that Hermione places on George.

**Acknowledgements-**

~The idea of multi-use lubricant from the Dragon Preserve comes directly (but within a different context) from Minx's great story, "Here There Be Dragons."  
~Remus's ability to sense people's emotions is fanon within many communities, and I would acknowledge multiple authors if I could only remember who they all are. One, for sure, is Minx.  
~The idea of an 'angel' having been killed at the Drombeg standing stones came from one line of a song by Beth Patterson, "Steer By the Stars." The inspirational phrases are:

_Now we all take our chances on what we regain  
But only fools would rush in where an angel's been slain_

~My gratitude to Jen for yet another insightful and spot-on beta. She is a treasure.  


* * *

**I.**   
_I'd crawl to you baby and I'd fall at your feet._

  
  
George stretched out his arms and legs, basking in the warm Mediterranean sun. It was a glorious mid-afternoon, the sharp clarity of the sky smudged lightly by white wisps of cloud.  
  
"Isn't this is the life?" Ron asked.  
  
George sat up to look into the pool. Ron was floating on an inflated chair, slowly paddling with his feet and taking an occasional drag off of his cigarette. A can of beer floated in the air near him within easy reach. George shielded his eyes with his hand. "Brilliant," George agreed, then collapsed onto his back, sinking into his chaise. "Nice of Hermione to invite Remus and me to join you both. I could get used to this."  
  
"Too right. Pity I've got to go back this evening."  
  
George lowered his left arm to the ground, feeling around for his glass.  
  
"You two don't mind keeping Hermione company tonight, do you?" Ron asked, beer to his lips.  
  
"'Course not," George said, taking a sip of his drink. "But I'm not playing any more of those stupid word games she's forced us into this week. I've got shite vocabulary and she knows it."  
  
"Ugh." Ron pulled a face as he took his wand out of the cupholder and waved the beer to the side of the pool. "French beer is for crap."  
  
"Good thing we got plenty of wine, then!" Remus' voice carried from the top of the dozen palm-flanked stairs leading from the house down to the pool. He hoisted a bottle in each hand in a salute, then returned back to the shade of the chalet.  
  
"Fuck! They're back!" Ron hissed under his breath, his languid paddling turning to violent thrashing. He traversed the small pool, crushed out his cigarette, frantically brushed at the ashes and tossed the offending item into the nearby plants.  
  
George snickered. "Why bother, Ron? Surely you know that she knows you're out here smoking."  
  
Ron scowled as he made his way back across the pool, kicking frog-legged. "Yeah. She said since I was on holiday she didn't mind if I had a few. But she gave me a bloody quota."  
  
George laughed so much he spilled some of his drink on his chest. "Pardon my French, but she's got you by the balls."  
  
"Not funny, arsehole!" Ron tried to be indignant, but a hint of a smile twitched in his mouth. "She puts up with you, and Perce, and Mum loves her."  
  
"Course she does," George replied, looking over his left shoulder for the bottle of cognac that had been his poolside companion.  
  
"And her tongue's great for more than talking. She might have me by the balls, but she does some amazing things-"  
  
"Too much information!" George said, pouring a splash of liquor in his glass. "Don't need to know. Don't want to know." He shook his head. "You are my brother, after all. If I thought too much about what you two do I would probably have nightmares."  
  
"Ron!" Hermione waved from up the hill. "Just going to have a lie-down." She blew him a kiss from under her voluminous wide-brimmed hat.  
  
He saluted in return, focused on her until she vanished into the house. "What've you got there?" He cocked an eyebrow at George.  
  
"Cognac."  
  
"Got any to spare?"  
  
"I reckon. As long as you're not going to make me spew by telling me anything else about your love life."  
  
"Deal."  
  
They succumbed to the lazy heat of the afternoon. George fell asleep on his lounge, Ron on the inflated pallet.  
  


***

  
  
  
"Ronald Bilius Weasley, I told you to cast that blocking spell, now look at you!"  
  
Ron and George were both impossibly covered with freckles, their skin bright red underneath. Sunburned.  
  
"I forgot!" he moaned, rolling his shoulders forward and wincing. "It's George. Bad influence. Always was."  
  
"You liar!" George growled. "Don't blame me for this."  
  
"I've got to go back to bloody Glasgow looking like a bloody idiot. Ow!" He swatted at Hermione, who was trying to apply some lotion to his shoulders.  
  
"Ow!" George echoed as Remus attempted to rub some salve into his neck.  
  
"Look. You two are the cleverest people we know. Surely there's some spell to fix this," Ron reasoned.  
  
"No. But I could do something for the pain," Hermione offered.  
  
"Please, my clever, sweet, lovely…"  
  
"Stop while you're ahead," she said, cutting him off, but planting a chaste kiss on his collarbone.  
  
"If you two are going to do anything, warn me so I close my eyes," Ron said, looking pointedly at George and Remus.  
  
"Close your eyes, then," Remus said, taking out his wand.  
  
Ron shuddered, squinching his eyes together.  
  
"How can you be so naive?" George laughed. "As though we'd do anything in front of you."  
  
Remus breathed a spell into George's ear, then nibbled on his earlobe while wriggling his hips provocatively behind George. Ron had opened one eye during the exchange and appeared to regret it.  
  
"Right. I'm off now. Now!" Ron exclaimed, striding from the room to pack his belongings.  
  
"There's a wicked streak to you, Remus," Hermione said, looking thoughtfully at him.  
  
"Why do you think Dumbledore had me teach about the Dark Arts?" Remus asked, stepping back and scratching across his exposed hairy chest with his wand.  
  
"I'll ask you about that later," she promised. "And no word games," she said pointedly, looking at George. "I know you're here as some sort of babysitter. Though I don't need it. I'm perfectly capable…"  
  
While she had been speaking, Ron had made his way into the living room and pulled Hermione to him, dipped her slightly, and kissed her thoroughly on the lips, silencing her indignant sentence. After righting her, he walked over to George and spoke into his ear.  
  
"Take care of her, right?"  
  
"Right as rain," George agreed. "I'm sure not interested."  
  
Ron nodded. "That's what I reckoned." He walked over to his portkey, a rabbit's foot keychain. Muggle. Or had been.  
  
"I'll see you tomorrow at the game, Ron."  
  
Ron grinned at Hermione. "Watch out for these two."  
  
Then he was gone.  
  


***

  
  
  
The trio made a delicious dinner of fresh fish and crusty bread and ate it on the terrace, the lush blaze of sunset providing a perfect background to the evening, their last night on holiday. Then they got smashed. That hadn't been the intention, really, and Remus with his infamous metabolism was by far the most articulate after a while, but they were all feeling astoundingly good, and Hermione and Remus had bought an astonishing amount of really tasty, and really cheap, local wine.  
  
They lounged outside, Remus and George sitting across from Hermione, enjoying the mild climate. The conversation topics ranged wildly through the evening, eventually settling on Lupin's legs.  
  
"Too skinny," Remus said, shrugging. "I can't believe I let you talk me into buying a pair of shorts," he went on, pointing an accusatory finger at Hermione. "Now an appalling number of the population in Monaco have been exposed to my white, knobby-kneed legs."  
  
"I love them," George said, reaching over to run his hand meaningfully up over Remus' knee and down under the hem of the shorts, which were actually rather long. Remus made a pleased rumbly sound, then he looked over at Hermione. "Oh. Sorry," George muttered, withdrawing his hand.  
  
The greater Weasley family, including those who had joined by marriage or nearly so, had accepted that George and Remus were a couple. The pair were very restrained, however, in expressing physical affection in front of anyone. By nature, George had never been one to be particularly demonstrative, but at the moment, he had a lovely warm buzz flowing through him. And sod it, he really liked Remus' legs. They weren't that white anymore anyway, as he'd spent a lot of time at the pool, and he didn't freckle like George did.  
  
"Oh George, it's fine. I don't mind, really!" Hermione's tanned face was lit by a nearby torch, and George recognised the playful look on it. "You know," she said, leaning in, her voice breathy, "I've never seen two men kiss. You could do that in front of me. You're both frightfully careful, it seems," she went on, taking a sip of wine. "Like we'd find it disgusting or something."  
  
"Aw, Hermione, it's not like we're performing monkeys at the zoo, you perv!" George exclaimed, even as Remus took back his hand and placed it where it had been on his thigh.  
  
"I didn't mean it like that," she said, flustered, brushing a stray c off of her forehead.  
  
"Hermione Granger. A voyeur," Lupin said, amused and, George could tell, intrigued.  
  
Even in the relatively dim light, George could tell she was blushing. _What the hell._ They'd all had a lot of wine, and he'd missed being able to give Lupin even familiar kisses since they were almost never alone.  
  
"I just thought if you wanted to," she said. "You could pretend I'm not here."  
  
George thought this was one of the most bizarre evenings he'd had in ages. Just then Remus ran his hand up George's thigh and leaned over to breathe in his ear, "I don't mind. Do you?"  
  
George answered by putting his wine glass on the ground, getting up a bit unsteadily from his chaise, and straddled Lupin, facing him. He held Remus' face in his hands, stroking the prominent cheekbones, admiring the golden eyes, then leaned in to kiss him. His mouth was warm, his tongue familiar, but it still sent shocks of pleasure straight to George's groin. Remus made contented sounds as George sucked on his lower lip, then continued to kiss him savagely, feeling Remus' enthusiasm in return. He rocked a little into the other man's hips, running his hands to the front of Remus' shirt.  
  
There was a distinctly feminine gasp behind him. _Bollocks, but he really had forgotten about Hermione._ George drew back, breathing heavily, feeling Remus' fingers begin to unbutton his shirt. "Whoops. Sorry. Got carried away," he apologised, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.  
  
"No. Keep going. It's… it's…" Hermione's eyes were shining, and she licked her lips, "quite a turn-on," she admitted. "Did I really just say that?" she giggled, drawing up a leg underneath her.  
  
"My, my, my," Remus said, his voice husky. He had undone George's shirt and his fingers clasped onto George's nipples, making the younger man moan. George held onto the armrests of the chair, grinding slowly into the erection he could feel through Remus' shorts. The skilled fingers left George's chest, went into Remus' mouth, then two wet thumbs caressed George's taut and sensitive nubs.  
  
"So you like to watch, Hermione?" Remus asked before raising up his head to take one of George's nipples in his mouth, teeth grazing, then his tongue circling around it.  
  
"Sunshine, oh god. You're incredible," George babbled, his cock positively aching. He drew Remus up from his chest to kiss him; deep, ferocious, and needy. "Want you. Buried in me. Oh Merlin."  
  
"Um, I think I need to be alone now," Hermione said, breathing heavily and levering out of her chair. She ran into the torch which wobbled precipitously, then she steadied it. "G'night. See you in the morning." She took one last look at them, George moving slowly but steadily against Remus, the older man flicking a finger over George's chest. "Goodness," she whispered. Coming to herself a bit, she said, "You know, you don't look anything like Ron."  
  
"That's reassuring," George replied.  
  
"Sweet dreams," Remus said before pushing George's shirt off of his shoulders and helping him out of it. Hermione gazed at them, open-mouthed, as Remus unbuttoned the top of George's jeans, then she turned and practically ran up the steps to the chateau.  
  
"Where was I?" Remus asked, pulling down the zip on George's pants.  
  
"There. Right there," George moaned, clutching to Remus' shoulders. "Oh. There," he went on as his lover's fingers pulled his cock out through the fly of his boxers.  
  
"You've become quite the hedonist here in this climate," Remus chuckled, stroking George's shaft.  
  
"I always want you. Climate doesn't matter."  
  
"Stand up for a minute so I can get out from under you," Remus commanded, his voice heated. "Then I want you to lie down on your back and put your hands together."  
  
"You going to tie me up?" George asked, using the armrests to push himself up and out of the way.  
  
"The thought had crossed my mind," Remus replied, rising up from the chair. He stood next to George and pulled his head to him, cradling the back of George's neck to kiss him hungrily, resuming his fisting of George's cock.  
  
George made a suffocated, pleased sound into Remus' mouth. Remus pulled back, rubbed his own arousal through his shorts and pointed to the chair, breathing shallowly. George squatted behind the chair, changed the back setting so that it lay mostly horizontal, then lay back down. Remus had turned and was looking around his chair and through a cluster of empty bottles.  
  
"What are you doing?" George asked.  
  
"Looking for my wand. I must have left it inside. Where's yours?"  
  
George thought for a moment. While his body seemed unaffected by the wine, thinking about something as specific as the location of his wand proved a sluggish challenge. "Think it's inside too." He raised his hips to tug at his jeans and boxers, wrenching them down his thighs.  
  
"Holidays have made us soft," Remus said, returning to help George out of his pants which he then dropped on the ground. "Well, not really," he continued, looking possessively at George's cock which was now very exposed.  
  
George was in heaven. Remus had him in his mouth, his talented tongue knowing exactly what to do to make him writhe in pleasure. He felt his lover's finger move toward his entrance, then withdraw. "No, don't stop, please, don't," he gibbered as Remus sat up.  
  
"I've just realized something else we're missing," Remus said, wrinkling his forehead.  
  
"Just _accio_ it from our room. The window's open," George said, feeling helpful, wanting to do anything to get Remus back to him.  
  
"No wands, remember?"  
  
"Bloody hell," George sighed. "What kind of wizards are we?"  
  
"Horny ones. With no sense."  
  
A flash of brilliance struck George. "Wait- you had a bottle of olive oil down here while cooking the fish. 'S'it still around?"  
  
"George, George," Remus's voice rumbled as he shed his already-unbuttoned shirt. "How the innocent have fallen." He walked over to the small grill to retrieve the oil.  
  
"Who's innocent?" George asked as he drank in the sight of Remus' lithe form padding back over to him, the grey chest hairs catching the light of the torch, his erection straining against his Bermuda shorts. The waning moon seemed impossibly distant in the sky; miniscule and unthreatening. As he basked in Remus' devouring gaze, George dimly recognised that there was a time before Remus, time when he had been unaware of the moon's phases. Time when he had fumbled, confused and unfeeling after Fred had been killed; time briefly coupled, then time alone. "You've taught me all I know," he said, grateful.  
  
"Or close enough," Remus corrected, not unkindly. "Now turn that astonishingly freckled body of yours over so I can have my sordid way with you."  
  
George hastily and enthusiastically complied. He was soon on hands and knees, fingers grasping around the sides of the chair. Remus' oiled fingers pressed steadily into him, stretching him in a maddeningly intimate gesture, fueling George's desire. "Now," he breathed, thrusting backward. "Ready for you."  
  
Remus growled, a lusty, primal noise George loved. George lowered his head for a moment while mourning his momentary emptiness, hearing Remus divest himself of his remaining clothes. Then there was an almost indecently erotic slithering noise as Remus coated himself with the oil.  
  
"Merlin. Sunshine," George incanted, feeling his lover breach him, overcoming the initial discomfort that was always there, still amazed at how two men's bodies could fit just so. It defied imagination. Remus didn't reply with words, instead using remarkable restraint to languidly sheathe himself while insinuating his fingers between George's sacs and grasping the base of his cock. George bucked with pleasure as Remus began fisting him, moving behind him in a way that sent sparks shooting from far within himself as his prostate was nudged.  
  
"Liquid velvet. Oh. So deep. Love feeling you around me." Remus, who was fairly talkative when they were intimate, at last began a deep-throated litany of phrases of how George felt, how he loved fucking him. George rocked back into him with enthusiasm, raising up a bit on the balls of his feet to make the angles less awkward for Remus, who was also kneeling on the chair. He was so enthralled in his lover's frenzied ministrations and the unmistakable imminent release barbing through him that he felt, more than heard, the unmistakable sound of something capsizing.  
  
"Remus, yes, Remus," he moaned as the intense orgasm flowed out of him and he came over his lover's hand. Milliseconds later, the front of the chair collapsed, sending the pair crashing against the tiled flooring. "Oh, fuck!" George yelled as Remus came with a shout, releasing George and grabbing the armrests of the chair. "Annnngggguhhhh!" George bellowed in agonized rapture, seeing red sparks of painpleasure, blissful aftershocks mingled with severe discomfort.  
  
"Owowowowbloody hell. My knees," George whimpered, writhing under Remus' weight, suddenly very grateful that his hands hadn't been any further up the chair or he probably would have suffered several broken fingers. "Not so fast!" he yelped at Remus, who was jerking out of him.  
  
"Are you okay?" Remus asked, his voice heavy with concern. He pulled himself slowly from George's body, both hands grasping the armrests.  
  
"Think so," he said, wincing as he hand-walked himself upright. "Bruised my knees up, for sure," George went on as Remus began looking for a cloth.  
  
"What happen… Oh!" Hermione squeaked from the top landing, dressed in a nightshift. She covered her eyes with her hands. "Are you two all right?" she asked.  
  
George threw his hands down to cover himself.  
  
"Um. We might have broken one of your parent's chairs," George called up the stairs, trying to sound nonchalant while looking frantically at Remus for assistance.  
  
"I'll repair it momentarily," Remus said and Hermione nodded, her face still covered.  
  
"I'll just go back to bed then," she said, turning and walking back into the house.  
  
"D'you think she's been watching the whole time?" George asked, rubbing his knees before leaning back into Remus' chest as he was pulled into a tight embrace.  
  
"Well," Remus said, after placing several kisses on George's earlobe and neck, "if she did, I suspect she got more than she bargained for."  
  
"So did I," George grumbled, but he clasped Remus' hands in his.  
  
"Let's get you inside so I can look at your knees," Remus murmured into his ear. "I'm sorry about the chair. But I must say that what we had before that was incredible."  
  
George rested his shoulders against Remus' furry upper chest. "Yeah. Glad you're not tired of my freckled fanny yet."  
  
"Never."  
  


*****  
**II.**  
_Things which cast no shadow._

  
  
The flush on George's skin from their holiday in Monaco had long faded. It was hard to believe they were almost at mid-term already. Dumbledore had not, to George's surprise, sacked him after his first attempt at teaching an elective course on the magical qualities of laughter and the many counterspells and counter-hexes which incorporated levity and mirth in their effectiveness. In fact, his two courses had proven to be so popular that he had been asked to teach them again, as well as an additional lower level study hall for students who found themselves especially unskilled at Transfigurations.  
  
George had tried to explain both to Dumbledore and McGonagall that it would be too much to add the study hall on top of the other classes, all while making sure that the shop was doing as well as it could, but McGonagall simply would not back down.  
  
"It will make up for the fact that you never took your N.E.W.T. in Transfigurations, Mr. Weasley," she said firmly.  
  
"We all know and appreciate the price your family paid during the War," Dumbledore said sympathetically, "and how much has happened from your school days to now. But Minerva has told me repeatedly of your superior abilities in this field. As you well know, while Voldemort has been defeated, some of those who fought on his side are still around, and still causing trouble. Our current students need to be prepared."  
  
"It would make more sense for me to teach an economics elective," George said, shaking his head. "If it weren't for Fred's head with numbers, and his patience, I don't think I would ever have learned how to keep the shop's books balanced." He turned to look at his former Head of House. "But all right. Poor sods will be wishing they were in Malfoy's Potions Club after a fortnight with me, I can guarantee it. Or even the Wizarding Chess Club."  
  
Dumbledore laughed and offered him a pistachio pastille, which George declined with a shudder. As he stood to leave, McGonagall got up from her chair and took his hand. "Thank you, George," she said, her hair ghostly white under her hat due to curses she had sustained during the fighting.  
  
"I always meant to do right by you," he offered. "It was just with Umbridge around, and then we'd gotten rights to the shop…" his voice trailed off. "To be honest, we were done with Hogwarts. And I wouldn't trade those few months with Fred for anything. Full marks in any of my courses are meaningless compared with that."  
  
"I've always understood," she said in her lilting voice, and squeezed his hand.  
  
"Wizarding economics," George heard Dumbledore say as he left the office. "Very interesting."  
  


***

  
  
  
"George? George!"  
  
"Yes? What is it?" George came tripping into his living room with the grace of a drunken hippogriff, still pulling his pants up his thighs as he did.  
  
"Oh. So sorry." Remus' face was in the fireplace of The Cleansweep, the affectionate name for George's flat and his connection to the Floo network, but from the bit of background George could see, Remus was obviously still in his office at Hogwarts.  
  
"S'okay," George replied, giving Remus a provocative look as he took his time to leisurely button up the front of his corduroys. "You on your way over?" he asked as he knelt down so he was more eye to eye with the other man.  
  
They had another of their trips planned, part of their ongoing _Solaris_ spell adventuring. This time they were off to Drombeg, a stone circle in southern Ireland, known even by Muggles as the 'Druid's Altar.' The two had found the sun-spell-enchanted stones all over the U.K., but now they were in search of other old magic beyond the one spell that Remus had initially tapped into at Kilmartin. Research still was not of great interest to George, but he did enjoy the ancient rocks and the thought of the ancestral magic that was imbued in them, and the trees and ground nearby. What he had noticed after spending a lot of time around Remus was that his own magic wasn't nearly as strong, a fact that didn't bother him all the time, but it was yet another inequality to their relationship. Remus didn't seem to mind, insisting that George's magic was probably much more focused. George was highly skeptical.  
  
"Yes, but not immediately. I'm still speaking with Larkspur. Why don't you go on ahead, and I'll meet you there in an hour, tops."  
  
The redhead tried not to be jealous. "Brilliant. I'll just go ahead and find all of the good ones and let you write them all down this time. And if you're over an hour late, you're buying me a Guinness. Or two, depending on how cold it is."  
  
Remus smiled. "Thanks for understanding. See you in a little while."  
  
George got up, his knees cracking.  
  
"Oh- and George?"  
  
"Yes?" George squatted back down in front of the fireplace.  
  
"I checked with Ministry weather; you'll probably want to wear an anorak, unless you've brushed up on your _repello_ spells."  
  
"You mean we're going to the southern coast of Ireland in October and they haven't predicted blue skies with a light wind?" George leaned back to pull his well-worn, drab, water-repellant-spelled parka off of the couch and draped it over his knees. "Covered. Thanks for the confirmation, though."  
  
"You're amazing," Remus said, the slightest hint of an appreciative growl slipping through.  
  
"You're just saying that because you're hoping I'll shag-"  
  
Remus coughed loudly.  
  
"Oh. Shite. Student in the office. Um, gotta go. Meet you at Drombeg."  
  
"Ta."  
  
Then the fireplace was empty.  
  
George walked the few steps back to his bedroom to finish packing.  
  
"Have you given Zap a title?" Fred asked from the portrait above George's chest of drawers.  
  
"What do you mean, a title?" George replied, confused.  
  
"Well, you do keep leaving him in charge of the shop. You seem to be gone a lot." Fred's voice belied his obvious displeasure in George's non-Weasley's Wizarding Wheeze's pursuits. "Assistant Manager, maybe."  
  
"Oh. That kind of title." George ran his fingers through his close-trimmed goatee. "Good idea." He looked at his twin. "We're still doing really well, you know."  
  
Fred gave him a hard look. "We'd be doing better if I were there."  
  
George sighed. "Of course we would. Look, I'm off. Got another ring of rocks to prod."  
  
"Lupin meeting you? I heard him in the next room."  
  
"Yeah, but he's going to be late." George sat heavily on the bed next to his trunk.  
  
"Larkspur?"  
  
"Yes." George rolled his eyes. "I know I shouldn't be ungrateful, but-"  
  
"But he spends heaps of time with her. I know. You've got to admit, though, he must feel like he's really helping someone else."  
  
Larkspur Beauchamp was a werewolf, a second year who had transferred from Beauxbatons at her mother's insistence. Remus had been beside himself when he found out that he could help someone else like him; that he could help her avoid all of the agonies he had suffered as a young student when he had tried to keep his condition a secret. Thanks to the wolfsbane, which was being further modified by Malfoy, current Potions Professor at Hogwarts after Snape was killed in the War, the repercussions of being a werewolf weren't nearly as dire as they had been. It was still incredibly isolating, however, or so Remus had said. He did spend a lot of time with her, and they shared a common understanding that George never would. Not that he was jealous.  
  
"He does. I've gotta go." George shrank his trunk, shoved it in his corduroys pocket, and nodded briskly at Fred.  
  
"When're you back?" Fred queried, reaching to a point beyond the frame and retrieving a book.  
  
"Dunno. Reckon this'll be a short trip. As always, the weather's atrocious." He snorted. "I wish I were back on holiday. I quite liked lounging poolside, even with Ron as company. Much better than freezing my arse off. Especially by myself."  
  
Fred put his book down and mimed playing a violin. "Oh, such a sad, sad tale of George the intrepid traveller."  
  
"Tosser."  
  
"I beg to differ! You're the bloody poof."  
  
"Right. See you."  
  
Fred grinned and returned to his book, propping his feet up on the frame and leaning back in his chair. George went into the living room, shrugged on his anorak, willing the magical coordinates of Drombeg into his mind before Apparating.  
  


***

  
  
  
The rain-drenched wind smacked his face as brutally as though it had fingers. George reeled backward, running painfully into an obdurate monolith.  
  
"Fuck!" he exclaimed, rubbing his shoulder. He took a moment to absorb his surroundings. It was a pretty small circle of stones, actually; around thirteen that were sizeable and a few others scattered nearby. He pulled up his hood against the whipping wet and got out his wand.  
  
As he stepped between two of the sandstone pillars into the circle he felt a sudden wave of nausea. He leaned over for a second, breathing heavily, then as quickly as it had come over him, it vanished. He stood back up, vaguely rubbed his stomach, and shook his head. Just dismal weather, and thirteen stones to test. _Must've imagined it,_ he decided, shrugging it off. He and Remus had been to dozens of sites and they'd all had their own aura to them; this one must just be different. He shivered for a second and zipped up the top of his parka, hoping that Remus wouldn't be too late. Then again, Remus shouting a couple of rounds of Guinness wouldn't be such a bad thing either. He retrieved a charmed scroll and drew a quick sketch of the stones, then walked to the closest one. _"Sumain súil,"_ he invoked, his hand on the slick surface of the monolith.  
  
Nothing. In fact, it almost seemed to take heat from his hand and deflect his wand.  
  
_I'm barking,_ he thought, disgusted. _There's enough wind to practically take the wand out of my hand. It's not the bloody stone._ He wrote a few comments, then went to the next.  
  
Nothing. And the next. Nothing.  
  
He made it halfway around the circle before stopping for a moment, taking a handkerchief from an inner pocket to wipe the water from his face. Perhaps this circle hadn't been near a Wizarding community, though that would be highly uncommon. The reliable references that Remus had been able to find about the stone circles indicated that while Muggles had used them, and in all likelihood built them, there was almost always a Magical infusion in the area.  
  
_Remus wouldn't have had us come here if he didn't think it had something,_ George reckoned, turning to face the bitter wind blowing up from the ocean. Between the slick of pelting rain and a ferocious blast, George's quill was snatched from his hand.  
  
"Bloody hell," he swore, following his writing instrument with his eyes. It flew across the ground of the circle with George in fast pursuit, until it was plastered against the bottom of one of the broken pillars, trapped by the wind. His left hand was scrabbling across the surface, clutching desperately at it when he noticed the top of a smooth disc mostly buried in the ground. He pocketed the errant quill, squatting down to brush at the lichen on the dark stone. As soon as he touched it, George felt searing pain wrack his body, as a malevolent magical force coursed through him, worse than any hexes he had sustained from the Death Eaters after Hogwarts, more primal than the curses he had taken during the War. He yelled in agony, then passed out.  
  


***

  
  
  
George came to, raising his left arm to cover his face which was getting pelted by rain. Memories of how he came to be lying on very uncomfortable, graveled ground rose slowly through the fog in his mind like bubbles in a particularly viscous potion. He was at Drombeg. None of the stones had any of the _Solaris_ infused in them. He'd touched something, felt a wave of bitter pain, and now he felt fine, but he was absolutely soaked through. And still alone. He turned his arm and pushed back a sleeve to look at his watch. He'd only been unconscious for a little while, a quarter of an hour at the most.  
  
Gingerly he sat up, expecting some kind of lingering soreness or evidence of what had happened to him, but aside from the unpleasantness of being dressed in now-soggy trousers, he seemed to be none the worse for wear. He got to his feet, pulled out his wand and cast a drying spell on the lower half of his body. Much more carefully this time, he returned to the stone where he'd retrieved his quill to look at the disruptive rock at its base. After pulling his wet fringe out of his eyes, he stared at it, and at the jagged crack which now split it open.  
  
"George! Merlin's beard! Get out of there!"  
  
Remus' voice barely carried over the wind, but it was startling after the relative silence. George stood up and turned, seeing Remus outside of the circle, beckoning him with exaggerated arm gestures. George made a pacifying shrug of his shoulders, and walked across the gravel to the other side.  
  
"What is it?" George asked a bit peevishly. He had no intention of telling Remus what had happened, as though he weren't twenty-four years old and perfectly capable of taking care of himself.  
  
"Are you okay? How do you feel?" Remus pulled George to him in a crushing embrace, then stood back and got out his wand. "Let me do a quick auralic, if you don't mind."  
  
George stood, his hands jammed into his pockets. "Are you a medi-wizard too?" Truth be told, he felt heaps better outside of the standing stones, and was a bit worried about what had afflicted him. But he didn't appreciate being babied, especially by his lover.  
  
Remus completed his hasty scan of George's magic, which left a residual sparkling hum in his body for a few seconds. Seeming satisfied, Remus pocketed his wand and put his hands on George's shoulders. "You don't ever need to put yourself in that kind of danger for our research," he said, his expression a mixture of relief and worry.  
  
"Danger?"  
  
Remus looked shocked. "Do you mean to tell me you didn't scan the area at all?"  
  
_Fuck._ No, he hadn't. He'd run smack into the monolith and had gone straight into the circle without checking for evidence of other wizards first. "No. Fine. So I'm a bloody idiot," George said, angry at himself. He shrugged Remus' hands off of his shoulders. "Go ahead- tell me. I deserve it."  
  
"No, it's not that," Remus said, pulling George back to him and placing his narrow fingers at the base of George's back. The wind shifted so the rain now hit them sideways. "Well, no, that wasn't bright, but even without checking, given how much residual dark magic is in there, you must have felt something was wrong."  
  
George thought about how to answer while wiping some water out of his eyes.  
  
"George," Remus said softly, his concerned voice barely audible above the elements. "I should let you know that I'm able to tell if you're not honest."  
  
"What, does being a werewolf make you a mind reader as well?" George had never lied to Remus, but this ability was rather disconcerting, no matter how much he cared for the other man.  
  
"No. It's a heightened sense of smell. It was nightmarish when I was younger, but I figured out ways to tune it down, as it were."  
  
"Remus?" George suddenly felt drained and somehow faded, as he had for several months after Fred had been killed. "Can we talk about this over a pint, maybe? I'm sick of being in the rain."  
  
"Of course." Remus paused. "Selkie's Swim?"  
  
"Sounds brilliant." George eked out a tentative smile.  
  
With nearly simultaneous _crack!_ ing sounds, they Apparated.  
  


***

  
  
  
Once manifested in the alleyway behind the pub, George shook out his waterlogged coat. Remus took his chilled hands and placed them against George's cheekbones, his thumbs cradling the younger man's jaw, and kissed him soundly. They stood for a few moments as George allowed himself to enjoy the quiet intimacy of Remus' lips on his, the gesture unexpected. George loved the way Remus kissed, the multitude of ways he was affected depending on what Remus did with lips, teeth and tongue; from a casual brushing of lips conveying greeting, to languorous explorations in heated mouths that seemed to turn his blood to fire and settle achingly in his cock. This particular kiss was one of satisfying completion, of being home. It was warming, but George still yearned to be inside and sheltered.  
  
They drew apart.  
  
"Thank you," George said as they walked around to the front of the building and went into the pub. "Y'know," he hesitated in the doorway, leaning back slightly into Remus' chest and speaking so that only Remus could hear, "you're a brilliant kisser."  
  
The sound of Remus's contented rumbling behind him made George grin.  
  


***

  
  
  
"I am very, very fond of you, you know," Remus said a while later as they sat in their favourite booth in the back of the pub. It was the place where George had first dared to show Remus that he was attracted to the older man.  
  
George took a pull on his pint. "Must say I'd hate not having you around as well," he said, smiling, rubbing his hand briefly over Remus'. "Now. About this smelling skill you have. What exactly are you on about?"  
  
"It started in my adolescence. Puberty." Remus winced. "I don't want to bore you with all that, but it became apparent that I was much more sensitive to other students' moods, and feelings. Different emotions smelled differently. Albus helped me to manage it, especially when I realised how invasive it was."  
  
George looked confused. "Invasive? You couldn't ruddy help it, sounds like."  
  
"At first. But once it was manageable, I could choose whether or not to smell how someone was feeling."  
  
"Like knowing Legilimency," George said, impressed.  
  
"No, not nearly so sophisticated as that. The point is that I could choose to sniff around you and I would have a pretty clear idea of your emotional state, and you wouldn't know. And you wouldn't have given me permission to do so."  
  
George took another deep swig of ale, then placed the glass on the table. "So you're saying that if I had come out of that standing circle and told you I'd never felt better, you could've turned on this sensing ability and known that I was lying through my teeth."  
  
"Something like that," Remus said, then polished off his pint.  
  
"Have you done that to me before?" George's mind was whirling.  
  
"Yes," Remus admitted, his expression chagrined. "And I'm sorry I hadn't told you until now. We'd been together over a year, though that doesn't make it right."  
  
"It was that last day of term, wasn't it?" George pieced together the heaviness of that particular afternoon when Remus had been helping him pack up his classroom. "When Malfoy-"  
  
"Precisely." Remus cut him off. "I couldn't help myself; the mixture of sexual pleasure and guilt were radiating from you, but I forced myself to act as though I didn't know. Which was why I was so grateful when you were honest."  
  
"I've never lied to you," George said, plainly. "I'm a jokester, but bald-faced lying has never been my strong point. Well, unless I'm talking to Mum. But Fred was always more convincing." He quirked his mouth. "All right. Try this." He finished his pint as Remus raised an eyebrow. "I want us to go back to The Cleansweep and for you to shag me til I'm sore. True or false?"  
  
Remus choked, then coughed a few times. Imposing a pseudo-serious look, he closed his eyes and took in a deep breath.  
  
"Well?" George demanded. He did, of course, want that to happen, and then to sleep for at least a day. And maybe take a hot bath. Hopefully with Remus there as well.  
  
"I sense that you're very tired, but there is a bit of desire mixed in," Remus said, as a look of gratitude crossed his face. "Most of all, you want to be with me," he continued, his voice warm with emotion. From across the table, Remus took George's hand and caressed his fingers. "I know you've been through your share of tragedy, but you're still young yet. And don't argue with me until I'm finished, please," he went on as George choked back the contradiction that had already leapt to his lips. "You can't begin to imagine what it's like to be me, to be one of my kind, and be found desirable." Remus spoke carefully to George's chewed fingernails, focused on them as though they somehow held mysterious profundity in their brittle, teeth-bitten edges. "That it happened once defied imagination. Twice is, dare I say it, miraculous."  
  
George began to feel uncomfortably close to tears. "Well!" he said, enthusiastically, attempting to cover his deeper feelings. "Let's go and get naked, shall we?"  
  
"Let's."  
  


*****  
**III.**  
_To live with wolves, howl like wolves._

  
  
  
George didn't notice anything odd until a Saturday afternoon a couple of weeks after the Drombeg Incident, as he now thought of it to himself. He had arrived in Remus' rooms in his school robes, having attended a prior meeting with the few hardy souls comprising the Enterprising Witches and Wizards Enclave, all with ideas for new shops and business pursuits. After shucking his robe, he'd taken a short nap in his oxford and trousers.  
  
Once he woke up, he made a cup of tea and sat on the bed, trying valiantly to convince Remus to leave off of grading parchments. As a beginning exercise, Remus had each student create their own wizarding family trees. This assignment was an anticipated exercise in the class, and, in fact, fast becoming a favourite for young History of Magic students, especially those of mixed Muggle and wizarding backgrounds.  
  
"C'mon, Remus," George pleaded from the other professor's bed. "If they make even a half-arsed effort you give them full marks, so why spend so much time on them?"  
  
"Because they're fascinating," Remus replied from the small study whose doorway was opposite the bed.  
  
" _I'm_ fascinating," George said provocatively, making sure his voice carried into the next room. "And I'm getting hard, just thinking about you. Thinking about how hot your mouth is, especially when you've had one of your post-dinner drinks, and it's like fire on my tongue, then you breathe in my ear…"  
  
George surprised himself at his monologue of what Remus' touch did to him. He usually let Remus do the dirty talk, but George found that he really was getting turned on as he spoke in no uncertain terms how Remus made him feel.  
  
As George spoke about Remus' teeth gripping his nipples, he felt the urge to touch them himself. He undid his shirt and wet his fingers, then clasped the hard nubs, pulling on the darker skin all while telling his lover how it felt when Remus was there. Then he undid his pants, freeing his hard cock, pushing his trousers down past his knees. After fishing about in his pockets, he took out a small vial of potent lubrication, sent to him by Charlie from the Dragon Preserve where he had returned after the War. "Not that I'd know anything about its other uses," his older brother had written, "but a couple of the chaps here are like you- you know,  that way - and they recommend it. Anyway, Happy Anniversary." Eyes closed, he spread some of the tingly substance on his fingers then began slowly fisting himself, still speaking aloud what it felt like when Remus was touching him, though his commentary was more to himself than anything else. There hadn't been any noise from the study for some time, and George had given up on Remus joining him.  
  
"Your fingers, oh pixies and paradise, when they're so slick and you know just how to tease and stroke, and you put me in that brilliant mouth of yours, and I'm just a goner. 'Specially when you run your tongue all down me and then pull back, tugging on the top, and you put a couple of fingers in me and it's all I can do not to come right then, but I want to wait, 'cause then you'll be inside me and it's the best feeling ever, so thick and fuck, just unbelievable, you're a man and still we can do that and- MERLIN!"  
  
George's eyes flew open.  
  
Apparently Remus had been listening, because he had crawled naked onto the bed. The heavy cock that George had been lauding was now dangling precipitously near his mouth and Remus had a possessive look in his eyes.  
  
"You were saying?" Remus said, his husky voice making George's heart skip several beats.  
  
"Fuck," George murmured before sending out his tongue to swipe across the head of Remus' cock.  
  
"I hope so, after listening to all you just said."  
  
"Hmmmphphight."  
  
"Pardon?" Remus asked, withdrawing from George's mouth, an amused expression on his face. "Didn't quite catch that."  
  
"Light," George panted. "Seems like the bloody sun is in my eyes."  
  
"It's fairly overcast, but let me take care of the curtains."  
  
George appreciatively watched Remus' slender frame as he closed the heavy drapes. Remus really did have a most fabulous arse. George felt immediately better, and even more horny than he had been before, if that were possible.  
  
"Come and fuck me. Please. Oh. Gods."  
  
A throaty chuckle rumbled from Remus. "Just a werewolf. But your command is my wish."  
  
Everything that George had mentioned came to pass. After yelling Remus' name so loudly he was sure that McGonagall had heard him and he just didn't care, George surrendered to a deep, sex-sated sleep while Remus cleaned them both up and went back to the family trees.  
  


***

  
  
  
The problems with light became worse. George found that he kept his curtains closed at his flat, and he became irritable in class when the sun was particularly bright. Given the time of year and their geography, it didn't happen that often, but George didn't understand what prompted his mood swings. Not only that, but he discovered he had an inexplicable fascination with, and desire for, red wine. Remus was more than happy to placate him, and Malfoy as well, who had a veritable cellar down in the dungeons. Oddly, George felt very comfortable in the Potions Master's rooms, with the chilled stone and torchlight. He rarely went without Remus, given his few interludes with Draco last year, but he always came away feeling soothed and calm. George was also never entirely sure that Malfoy wasn't modifying the wine somehow, though he was especially careful to watch him open the bottles and pour their contents.  
  
And then there was the fact that he was always cold.  
  
He would sleep next to Remus, draped over him. Even though he had assumed that he had adapted to Remus' higher body temperature, now he craved the body heat; he needed it. Sleeping alone at The Cleansweep became an exercise in retrieving as many of his Mum's and Hermione's knitted afghans so he could stay warm. Fred gave him no shortage of grief from the portrait, but George tuned him out.  
  
About six weeks after they had been to Ireland, when George was clasped to Remus as though he were his very shadow, Remus ran his hand through George's hair.  
  
"Not that I mind, but what's going on?" he asked.  
  
"Dunno," George replied. "I'm just cold. Stone castle and all."  
  
"Yes, but that's never bothered you before."  
  
George traced his fingers across a raised scar on Remus' back.  
  
"Bloody hell," he said, his body stiffening. "Remus. It's from the Drombeg Incident."  
  
"The what?" Remus snorted.  
  
"Don't scoff, no, really. That bloody day in Ireland. I'd meant to tell you, but there was the whole emotion-smelling thing and then the shagging and then we got busy and since I didn't feel poorly I never told you that- "  
  
"That what?" Remus pulled back from him, the look in his amber eyes suddenly very serious.  
  
"While I was in the circle, the wind snatched my quill. When I got it from across the way, I noticed this mostly-buried stone and touched it. And then there was a lot of pain, and I passed out. I wasn't out for that long, though," he said hurriedly. "I was fine by the time you showed up."  
  
"Why haven't you said anything until now?" It was obvious that Remus was on the verge of livid.  
  
"I told you. I felt fine. Nothing happened, I didn't think. And we were busy."  
  
"Not so busy that you couldn't have bothered to tell me that you had been knocked out by something while in an area so drenched in dark magic that I could barely see you in it!"  
  
"You're yelling," George seethed through clenched teeth. "Remus, you're yelling at me. Bloody hell- I'm sorry. Honest to Merlin, I thought whatever it was had passed. I've felt just fine, up until recently."  
  
"We have to go back," Remus said, his voice measured. "And I didn't mean to yell. It's just that Merlin only knows what struck you. A hex, heaven forbid, a curse? It could be anything, and now it's been several weeks and whatever it was is probably ancient and it'll take some time to figure out how to counter it." He rubbed his long fingers into George's upper back. "You could have been killed," he said quietly.  
  
"Then let's go." George felt a bit sick to his stomach, his lackluster ability to get things right churning through him. "I'm sorry I always disappoint you. Look, you can get rid of me once we know whatever it was that's made me so clingy…"  
  
The remainder of his comment was swallowed in a searing kiss. When Remus pulled away, his expression was still severe, but it was obvious that it was because he was worried. "Not getting rid of you, and I don't ever need to hear you say that again. But George, use that common sense that you have in spades. Please."  
  
George nodded, somewhat reassured. "Well, I've been hit by jinxes and hexes since Fred first learned to cast them. The War taught me about curses. I know what they can do."  
  
"Which is why I'm so flabbergasted that you hadn't said anything!" Remus' mood had tilted back to exasperated.  
  
"I just did. Here, leave it, okay? I'm sorry for being such a bloody idiot and for making you look like one when you have to explain to the Ministry that you want the stones unwarded so we can go back." George turned over so his back was to Remus, pulling the covers with him.  
  
"I won't look bad in front of the Ministry, not any more than I already do," Remus said, rubbing George's back gently.  
  
George grunted, thoroughly disgusted with himself and wishing he could get his hands on one of the few legal time-turners to have that afternoon to do over again.  
  


***

Remus was already halfway through his breakfast when George made it to the Great Hall the next morning. Thankfully it was raining, but even that much light made George feel achy all over. He didn't usually take breakfast at the school, but Dumbledore had generously given him a small room off of the first-floor hallway, so his presence wasn't immediately suspicious to anyone on the staff, much less the students. He took a seat across from Remus, who wished him a subdued 'good morning,' then George looked along the table for the tea.  
  
"Tea, Mr. Weasley?" McGonagall held the kettle and motioned for his cup.  
  
"Ah. Great. Thanks." George passed over the cup then took it back, holding the steaming contents to his face.  
  
In a voice so quiet that George had to lean in to hear him, Remus asked, "Do you remember what you were dreaming about last night? You were moaning, but I hesitated to wake you."  
  
George took a sip of tea, then busied himself slathering a piece of toast with butter. He chewed for a minute, studying the other food items available, then was assaulted by forgotten images from the night before. He swallowed as he looked over at Remus, who seemed unusually contemplative.  
  
"Yeah. Nightmares. Fred." George tried to concentrate on them, but the details fled his conscious thought as surely as students rushing off after exams. "Say," he went on, spearing some bacon off of a nearby platter, "why don't you go to Drombeg and I'll poke around the library to see if there's something that happened there that wasn't already in my summary."  
  
Remus nodded, and George tucked into his breakfast. A few minutes later one of the students in the Enclave, Sebastian Langford, enthusiastically tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he could show George the first draft of a business plan he had come up with the night before.  
  
"As long as you don't mind risking getting egg on your parchment, the space is yours," George said, gesturing at the empty space next to him.  
  
The Ravenclaw gave him a wide-eyed look. "I wouldn't presume to sit at the faculty table. Here," he said, shoving the plan at him. "If you don't mind, just look over it and I'll see you on Wednesday."  
  
Langford beat a hasty retreat back to his classmates while George shook his head and placed the scroll carefully on the table next to his plate.  
  
"You're really something," Remus said, looking admiringly at him.  
  
George tried desperately not to let the goofy smile that he actually felt get to his mouth. "Not so much," he replied, and glanced up at McGonagall, who had an eyebrow raised looking at the two of them. "Fred and I certainly weren't the only students to enter Hogwarts intent on learning how to make a mound of galleons." He gave Remus a knowing look. "And some were busy with other incredibly important, but non-schoolwork oriented activities, from what I hear."  
  
Remus quirked his mouth. "Students, up to no good? I wouldn't possibly know anything about that." He eased himself off of the bench and away from the table. "I hope that your research with Madame Pince is illuminating."  
  
"Me too," George said. "Be careful."  
  


***

  
  
  
Even with Madame Pince's assistance, George couldn't find anything in the annals of wizarding history at Hogwarts' library that had anything to do with Drombeg. Remus returned with the now-innocuous stone, placing it in a warded box for good measure.  
  
George's symptoms got worse. After a few more weeks he went to Dumbledore and told him what had happened and grudgingly asked to have someone else take over his Laughter in Magic course. He could no longer risk teaching during the day after he gestured through a weak sunbeam one day only to suffer a red burn on his hand. He became nocturnal by necessity, as sunlight became unbearable. George and Remus researched vampiric curses, as it was increasingly obvious that was what had affected him, and even Hermione got clearance to various restricted sections of the Ministry to find out what she could- which was nothing they didn't already know. He did spend a few evenings with Lee Jordan, who was a regular at several clubs and didn't mind George's eccentric waking and sleeping habits, but the crush of people overloaded his senses after a while.  
  
Remus was wary of trying the known counter-curses since the dark magic in the area had been so strong, but George was getting desperate.  
  
"I can't live the rest of my life like this, like some bloody half-vampire," he said, huddled next to the fire in Remus' room. "I can't teach, can't work the shop during the day, I'm sodding useless." He jabbed at the burning logs with a poker. "May as well try and be a Muggle, as pathetic as that is."  
  
There was a sharp intake of breath from the opposite side of the room.  
  
"Of course," Remus said, slowly exhaling.  
  
"Of course what?" George said irritably, turning around to see Remus shaking his head.  
  
"I should have thought of this weeks ago!" He slammed his hand down on his desk. "Muggles, that's it! I'm going to the Bodleian library in Oxford. Tonight."  
  
"I don't follow," George said. He pulled the afghan around his shoulders.  
  
"I suspect the reason why we haven't found anything is because whatever happened at the stone ring was witnessed by Muggles, not wizards."  
  
George rolled his eyes. "C'mon, Remus. If there's so much residual dark energy there surely some wizard would have written something about it. And besides, what could a Muggle write that would possibly help? They don't even believe in magic. Most of them."  
  
"But some do. It's worth trying."  
  
At this point, George was ready to engage in any kind of magic, whether dark, blood-oriented, sexual or mind-invasive to get rid of the curse. "Right. You're simply going to Apparate into some part of the library?"  
  
"No." Remus strode over to him and leaned down his hand. " _We're_ simply going to Apparate into some part of the library." He pulled George to his feet, shoving the blanket off of him. George was still wearing an undershirt, button-down, and two oversized jumpers his mother had knitted. Remus looked strangely at the garish maroon 'F' emblazoned on the front. "Are you having personality confusion as well?"  
  
"Piss off," George grumbled, snuggling into Remus. "It was what I pulled out of the chest. I was cold. Fred, George, what's the difference?"  
  
"Well." Remus ran his hands behind George and grabbed his buttocks. "For one, as charming as Mr. Fred Weasley's personality is, he does seem resolutely confined to a world of portraits. And the George Weasley clenched in my hands is not."  
  
George sucked on the side of Remus' neck. "We'd better go before I get ideas, then," he said, rubbing his hips against the older man's.  
  
"And you need to eat more. There's not much of that gorgeous freckled flesh for me to hold onto anymore."  
  
"Like you can talk."  
  
Remus swatted him on the arse. "Let's get to the Forest."  
  


***

  
  
  
After Apparating from the Forbidden Forest, George stepped away from Remus in the near pitch-black. The library was, rightly, empty. Except for the ghosts. Several phantasms wandered through the stacks of books while two sat across from each other at a reading table, caressing each other's translucent fingers.  
  
"Hag's hounds," George breathed. "What are they all doing here? Don't the Muggles see them?"  
  
"Well, I put much more stock in Muggle-wizarding interaction than you do, but I suspect that most of them don't," Remus replied, his voice quiet and tinged with melancholy. Or so it seemed to George, who was simply unused to seeing ghosts of any kind outside of the Hogwarts castle. Poltergeists, well, there had been Peeves, and the one at the Burrow. Outside of school, however, he had never run across other figures that haunted particular locales dear to their corporeal hearts.  
  
"We're on the wrong floor. Follow me."  
  
George did, noticing the broad swaths of tarnished moonlight illuminating high shelves and row after row of books. Thanks to his curse and Remus he was even more attuned to the moon's cycles and knew that the full moon was in three nights.  
  
They made their way through several descending staircases until Remus stopped. "Wizard," he muttered under his breath. "Can't imagine who else would be here this time of night."  
  
George shrugged. "Guess we'll find out," he said as they readied their wands.  
  
Both George and Remus incanted _lumos_ spells on their wands as dimly as they could make them, then entered an area that even to George's unschooled eye was obviously not visited by many people. There, at a reading table with thick tomes hovering around her, was Hermione Granger.  
  
"Hermione?" George spluttered as she jumped up from her stool and jutted her wand unwaveringly at the two interlopers.  
  
"Who's there? I knew you were coming, you know," she said in an authoritative voice.  
  
"Remus Lupin."  
  
"And George."  
  
"Thank Merlin," she said as she watched their approach from the gloom, then pocketed her wand. "If I get caught doing any more _obliviate_ spells on the cleaning staff the Ministry is going to get after me."  
  
"What're you doing here?" George asked, still taking in their surroundings.  
  
"What do you think?" she asked, incredulously. "I'm trying to figure out what in blazes happened at that spot in Ireland and what it will take to find the correct counter-curse for your…" she hesitated, "condition."  
  
"Mum put you up to this," George stated, looking around the room. "I should've known."  
  
"No," she replied, waving Remus over to her. "Well, I mean, she did owl me a couple of times about what was happening and that you were drawing more and more away from everyone, and Ron-"  
  
"Have you found anything?" Remus interjected, leaning sideways to look at the book titles. "I feel twice the fool now, thinking that my idea to go to a Muggle library was such a clever idea. Apparently you've already been here a few times."  
  
Hermione smiled and twisted a rogue c of hair into the orderly plait running down the back of her head. "Guilty. But I may have finally found something."  
  
After stowing their wands, Remus and George clustered over her shoulders as she pointed to some mid-1700's writings about a mysterious Angel and his unfortunate demise at the Druid's Altar.  
  
"I need to do a bit more research, but I'm almost absolutely certain that there was a vampire coven and this Angel figure was a wizard. He was a rector at the parish church- might've been mad, I'm not sure. But it seems that the people in the village saw him as a sort of God-blessed deity, and so he decided to fulfill that role."  
  
"Sweet Merlin," Remus said, his fingers brushing the brittle page with its unmoving text. "A wizard priest?"  
  
"I suppose," Hermione answered. She continued in a subdued, storytelling voice. "And he took it upon himself to be the saviour of the village, even though there were more than just vampires." She pointed at a paragraph.  
  
"Priest?" George asked, feeling oddly distanced from the discussion. Remus and Hermione had extensive Muggle roots, but compared to them, his interaction with the complexities of the non-wizarding world was woefully limited.  
  
"Religious figure," Remus said, his eyes still focused on the text, though he did rub his fingers into George's shoulder.  
  
"There were dark wizards who preyed on the seeming infallibility of the vampires," Hermione said excitedly. "All of them gathered together and Angel went out to try and defeat them and save the parish from whatever dark magic they would have inflicted 300 years ago."  
  
"So all we need to is find out how to counter a vampiric curse spelled into a stone by dark wizards in Ireland in the 1700s," George said, wrapping his arms around his chest and feeling dismal. "No worries."  
  
"Actually, having the time period can make all the difference," Remus said consolingly, running his fingers on the bump at the bottom of George's skull.  
  
George almost allowed himself some hope, his head leaning on Remus' shoulder, relaxing into the strong fingers kneading under his hair into his scalp. "D'you have some bright idea?"  
  
"He wasn't Defense Against the Dark Arts professor for nothing, George," Hermione reminded him, waving the books back to their usual shelved, and in one case, glass-encased locales. She stood up and looked at the two men, hands on her hips. "I would never have thought so, but you two do make a very handsome couple."  
  
George rolled his head on Remus's bony shoulder blade. "Hermione, I think you're just saying that because we're the only poofs you know. And besides." He turned to Remus so he could encircle Remus's middle with his arms, and looked into the amused expression on his lover's face. "We all know that Remus is the catch in this pairing. Dangerous, sexy, and indecently good-looking for a man his age."  
  
Remus snorted, but gave George a look that he knew very well. An appreciative, lusty, 'you're going to be holding onto that headboard for dear life while I fuck you from here to Thursday and you're going to love it' look. "You'd better be careful. Aren't you the one that said flattery will get you buggered?"  
  
Hermione looked incredulously at them. "I don't believe you two! How can you want to have sex so much? Ron and I don't. I mean, well, we do sometimes, but it's not like-"  
  
"Don't want to know, Hermione," George interrupted, turning his head to look at her. "For all I know, Ron likes to be tied up and have you use a riding crop on him. But he's still my brother, and you're going to be my sister-in-law at some point, and I just don't. Want. To. Know."  
  
She blushed an extraordinary beet-red colour.  
  
"Oh, bloody hell," George said. "You don't really use a riding crop on him, do you?"  
  
Hermione clasped her hands to her mouth as Remus gave a rare, throaty laugh.  
  
"Thank you, Hermione, for all the work you've done here on George's behalf," Remus said after he regained his composure. "I think we should all get home."  
  
She nodded dumbly, mouth still covered.  
  
Remus was chuckling as they Apparated back to the Forbidden Forest.  
  


*****  
**IV.**  
_If you want a partner, take my hand._

  
  
  
It was Christmas Eve. Hogwarts was empty, save a few professors and even fewer students. Mid-afternoon found George in the dungeons, watching Malfoy hand Larkspur and Remus their wolfsbane for the month, in the same stoppered green beakers he always used.  
  
"Happy Christmas," Malfoy said, raising the vials in a toast. "Sorry to leave you out Weasley," he continued. "Except, I won't. A Malfoy could never be so rude as to leave out one of his guests."  
  
While Draco strode across the room toward a cupboard, Beauchamp turned to Remus, blushed, gave him a fierce hug, then bid a hasty retreat from the dungeons.  
  
"Full moon at Christmas. That's dismal," George said, watching as Remus kept his eyes fixed on the door where she had exited.  
  
"Indeed."  
  
"It's really great that she has you here."  
  
"Yes. I was, of course, fortunate in my friends, but knowing someone else like me would've made a world of difference. Perhaps."  
  
"Ah, the happy couple," Malfoy said, appraising George exclusively. "Cheers." He handed George a dusty bottle of red wine.  
  
"Malfoy, this is ancient! You can't give me this." George turned the bottle in his hands.  
  
"I can and I will. Now go on. I need to pack my trunk and get home to the Manor. Besides." Draco reached out his arms and rested his hands on the other men's arms. "If what it takes to lift your curse is what I think it is, you'll need it afterwards." Malfoy was looking at Remus, but he gently ran his thumb along George's bicep, then squeezed it lightly.  
  
"Happy Christmas. See you next term," Malfoy said, stepping back and crossing his arms.  
  
"Thank you, Malfoy," Remus replied, nodding briefly and turning to leave.  
  
"Cheers," George said, hefting the bottle, then followed Remus out of the laboratory.  
  
"Good luck."  
  
The door shut firmly behind them.  
  


***

  
  
  
They made their way through the quiet halls back up to the first floor, the near-silence broken only by two Slytherins protecting the back of their heads as Peeves chucked chestnuts at them. The poltergeist waved at George, who waved back.  
  
"Say!" George exclaimed as they approached Remus' door. "I could try and learn how to become an animagus, too. Bollocks. I should have thought of that ages ago."  
  
Remus pointed his wand at the door to undo the locks, then he looked at George and shook his head. "It's not like it used to be, George, and I truly appreciate your sentiment." He opened the door and waved George through. "The transformations, thankfully, are virtually painless. And there's enough to deal with ridding you of this curse. You don't need to spend extraneous energy learning how to transform yourself."  
  
George placed the wine bottle carefully on a table near the doorway to Remus' study, knocking some parchments over in the process. He squatted down to retrieve them. "Not like I can do much of anything else right now," he muttered to himself. "At least that would be something useful." Standing, he glanced over at Remus as he shoved the scrolls into as tidy of a pile as possible.  
  
Remus had knocked back his wolfsbane, grimacing at the taste, then put the beaker on his nightstand. He shook his head a few times, silver-streaked hair flying around his face. "Awful," he growled.  
  
"Isn't it always?"  
  
"Yes, but I half-expected Malfoy to give it some festive flavour."  
  
"I wouldn't have put it past him."  
  
"Drink? There's a few hours yet."  
  
"Sure."  
  
George waved his wand at the fireplace, murmured _incendio_ , and soon they were both seated next to the cheery flames. He was sitting on the floor, sheltered within the confines of Remus' legs, nursing a glass of wine and luxuriating in the other man's touch as Remus ran his fingers through George's hair. Then the fingers moved down, running across George's chest, and he felt his lover's growing erection nudging into his back.  
  
"Mmmmm," George said, tired but wanting to do something for Remus before his change, especially on Christmas Eve. He disengaged himself from Remus' legs and turned around, kneeling in front of the older man. The room was very dark, an attempt to keep George as comfortable as possible. It meant that the firelight playing on Remus' face set his features in sharp relief, his expectant expression captured in flickering illumination. George ran his hands up Remus' legs to the bulge tenting his wool trousers, letting his fingers rub against the hardening shaft. He looked up at Remus to gauge his reaction, but Remus' eyes were closed. His legs opened wider, however, and George smiled to himself.  
  
He undid Remus' belt and waist buttons and unzipped the placket. The tempting, musky smell of _remusex_ was there as George shamelessly rubbed his face in Remus' groin, inhaling the other man's scent and powerful lupine smell from the wolfsbane potion. "Think I need to get you out of these," he breathed into Remus' boxers.  
  
"Another brilliant thought from that mind of yours," Remus said, lifting up from the chair so George could pull down all of the clothes until the fabric clustered around Remus' ankles. George took care of removing the obstructing shoes and socks, then tugged off Remus' trousers and underthings, throwing the garments out of the way. George knelt again, closing his eyes and running his tongue up the inside of a hairy knee and inner thigh. He rubbed the trimmed hair of his goatee against the sensitive soft skin of Remus' balls, a gesture he knew Remus loved. George sent out his tongue, deftly tracing a familiar and scent-driven trail of skin, pulling one of the soft sacs into his mouth and running his tongue all around the lightly furred surface, grazing his teeth a bit when he heard Remus' appreciative growl above him. Eyes still closed, George suckled the sac, then suddenly stopped. His nose had run into something hard. Something at the base of his lover's cock. George sat back on his heels, gasping.  
  
"What's that?" he asked, then abandoning any decorum, leaned back into Remus' crotch and stared.  
  
"Happy Christmas, George," Remus panted, placing his own fingers around the device, turning it in a slow circle. George felt his own cock jump in a frisson of hedonistic need. In front of him was a magical cock ring. Glowing in the dim light, the words 'Property of George X. Weasley' pulsed on the surface. "Do you like it?"  
  
George responded with dangerous enthusiasm.  
  


***

  
  
  
A few hours later, George was ced up on the floor, huddled in several blankets, a few feet away from where the wolf lay, looking back at him with disconcertingly familiar gold-flecked eyes. George had finally convinced Remus to let him spend the night with him after his transformation, though it had taken ages to get there.  
  
"We've been together almost two years!" he'd insisted. "It's Christmas. Bloody hell. You've even been officially accepted into the family, for bollock's sake."  
  
Remus had tried to stare him down with his most severe glare, but it was rather unconvincing when he had been unable to resist the siren call of the hand-knitted maroon jumper with a large silver R in the middle, Molly's white flag of truce. "All right," Remus conceded. "But only after. Not during. And go ahead and put some clothing of yours in the room. If Malfoy hasn't tinkered with the wolfsbane, I should be able to recognise you without any problem, but bring your wand with you regardless."  
  
Now the two gazed at each other until George couldn't stand it. "I'm cold," he apologised, then got up to his knees and shuffled toward the wolf. He pulled back his lips at first until George put out his hands in front of the wolf's nose. He was sniffed, then licked. _Accepted._ George didn't dare pet Remus in this form- truth be told, he had never quite realised nor appreciated what it must be like to turn into an animal, especially one as large as the full-sized grey wolf in front of him. Every movement George made was done in a gesture of submissiveness; Remus had stressed that while it was certainly him in the room, and ultimately he inhabited the mind of the creature George would confront, Remus the person would be untenable and unaccessible on any profound level.  
  
But George was freezing, and he knew it was Remus there, and honestly, he was suffering no small bit of apprehension about what had to be done the next night to be rid of his curse. He missed his lover; he missed Remus' body heat and furry chest.  
  
"I'm going to lie down in front of you," he said to the wolf, which raised its head and held out its tongue, breathing open-mouthed for a bit. "I'll take it that's okay."  
  
The wolf - Remus - yawned, jaw unhinging as only can be done by a canine. George smiled, then slowly lowered his body down, facing the wolf, and then turning his back to it. He scooted back until his prone figure was next to the more rapidly breathing animal, not wanting to rush things, but needing to be near Remus, regardless of his temporary form. After a while, George relaxed enough not to jerk away when the large head behind him leaned over and licked the exposed skin above his ear, then rested behind him on a bony paw. A heavy foreleg draped over George's shoulder, and he nestled into the heat of the prominent ribcage behind him.  
  
"I love you, Remus," George said quietly, quite sure that the wolf couldn't hear him. "I know I've never said that to you before, and it's pretty cowardly to do it while you're not really who you are. I mean, aside from Mum, and maybe Ginny, I've never said it to anyone. Not even Fred, but I guess that went without saying." He rubbed at his nose, willing away the tears that pricked behind his closed eyelids. "I must sound like a lovesick git or something, but you do mean the world to me, and I really do want to do right by you, no matter what. Just can't believe you still put up with me, and that cock ring…" he grinned, rubbing his shoulder blades against the wolf's fur, surprised when a loud huffing noise blew into George's ear. "Oy! Can you hear me? Do you understand what I'm saying?"  
  
George turned his head around only to have a large wet wolf nose nuzzle him on the sensitive spot on his neck, behind his ear. "You're tricky, Remus Lupin," he said, settling down and cing up his arm so he could lay his head on it as a cushion. "I do love you. Happy Christmas."  
  
The wolf made a low whining sound, then licked George's neck two more times for good measure. George was asleep within minutes.  
  


***

  
  
  
"Hermione, I'm bloody freezing!"  
  
"I know, I know. And I'm sorry," she said, pity in her expression. "This is the only way, though, and even I'm not sure it's going to work."  
  
"Let's get it over with then," George replied through blue lips. Remus, in wolf-form, wouldn't leave his side, rubbing up against him. The moon was full for two consecutive nights, which made Remus miserable, but had been responsible for the opportunity to perform the ritual that would hopefully rid George of the vampiric curse. The trio had stood at the ocean's edge, a mile from the Drombeg circle, where Hermione had made two braided circlets of seaweed, incanting something in Middle Irish and fastening them around George's wrists. He was naked, and shivering; feet in the ocean, almost falling in with the slick stones and the fact that he could barely feel his feet. _"Súanem suthainn."_ It sounded like Parseltongue to him, but Hermione insisted that it would allow him to be bound to Remus. It was only blood-binding with another dark creature that would expel the vampiric curse which could then be, in theory, infused into the earth where it would be too diluted to be harmful. Or so Hermione thought.  
  
George and Hermione Apparated from the sea to the circle, and Remus followed, panting, a few minutes later.  
  
"Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!" George was shaking. "You're not going to be able to get any blood out of me. It's all vanished."  
  
"George, I am so sorry-"  
  
"Just go on. I'm sure seeing me like this is no picnic for you either. Thank you for giving up your Christmas night to be blinded by my glow in the dark body and having to do dark magic. I swear I'll get you something nice once this is all over."  
  
She enfolded him in a full-body hug, garnering a low growl from Remus.  
  
"Just being friendly," she said as the wolf nosed at her legs. "You have the stone?"  
  
George nodded. He stood in the center of the circle, all too aware of how he must look in the moonlight, knees knocking together, and his private bits shrunken with cold, trying desperately to c up into himself.  
  
Hermione took her wand and began speaking the counter-curse very carefully. She invoked the powers of earth and stone, blood and water, then took out a small knife. George knew she had memorized the pattern of the cracked rock that had housed the curse, but he held it in his hands with the spiral turned outward so she could see it.  
  
"I'm sorry," she whispered, placing the knife to his chest. With a deliberate hand, she cut him, making a replica of the spiral on his body. The magic she had called around him made the pain far more bearable, but Remus was whimpering nearby, making it seem worse.  
  
Once the pattern was done, George lay down on his back on the pebbled ground. The wolf came over and licked his ribs, lapping at the blood and then letting some of it fall onto the stone in George's hands. George felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him as his breath seemed to rush out of his fingers. He dropped the stone at the same time that the seaweed ties sizzled and smoked; it had felt like a burning coal, and he rubbed his hands in the damp ground in an effort to cool them off. The wolf continued licking at the circular trail until there was no blood, just a slightly oozing welt in a spiral.  
  
"Did it work?" Hermione was breathless, and looked apprehensive.  
  
"Dunno. Something happened, though," George managed to say through chattering teeth. "Can we get out of here now?"  
  
"Most certainly."  
  
George allowed himself to be pulled up from the ground and gratefully wrapped the bathrobe around him that Hermione had brought. "Ready to Apparate back?" George asked the wolf, squatting down beside the large grey body. Remus had insisted that he could Apparate while in wolf form as long as he knew exactly where he was going, but it had made George very uncomfortable. It was one thing to be clutching Remus the person and travel magically, but it was quite another to try and hold onto a dangerous-looking wolf, even if George rationally knew it was Remus. The wolf licked the side of George's neck. "I guess that's yes."  
  


*****  
  
**V.**  
_Here I stand- I'm your man._

  
  
  
"So I wondered how daft he must've thought I was not to notice that he didn't care for all the birds I tried to set him up with, and I tried not to get too sodding cranky with him, 'cause it's George, y'know, and I just can't stay angry at him for long, and so anyway, here's to George and Remus!"  
  
Lee Jordan raised his pint, already at least two sheets, if not three, to the wind.  
  
"To the oddest handfasting, wedding, whatever, I've ever attended, but it's George, and he's happy and that's all I've ever bloody cared about. You're the best, mate."  
  
George about spewed his beer all over the table. Molly was in tears, his father's face continued to have a blushing tinge to it, Hermione saluted and then grabbed Ron's glass and swallowed a hefty amount of the contents as Ron began to curse a blue streak. Charlie and Percy's children ran around the table while their parents each had slices of cake, and Ginny clutched George's arm.  
  
"I just wish Fred and Bill were here," she said, her eyes red. "But I'm happy for you too."  
  
"Oh, I told Fred. You should have heard him, after he quit swearing. He was more than happy not to have to cope with Mum being a faucet."  
  
Ginny sniffled. "Sounds just like him."  
  
"Because it is," George replied, moving his arm to drape around her shoulder. "Chin up, Gin."  
  
She nodded, then wiped her eyes and allowed herself to be eased from him back to Neville's side.  
  
"You didn't have to do this, y'know," George said to Remus, who appeared to be surprisingly comfortable being the center of attention, even with the gaggle of Weasley clan all around him. His voice took on a serious tone. "We're really a nightmarish lot. You'll probably regret it."  
  
Remus shook his head and with his thumb, ran over the trail hidden under George's shirt and robes. "I'm done with regrets. Life's too short, and there are far worse ways to spend my life than with a handsome man who can make me laugh and who's only just hitting his sexual prime. Especially now that I can enjoy seeing you in daylight again."  
  
"You're barking," George said, his heart fit to burst, still reeling that they were publicly joined and that they were accepted. "You should be with somebody better."  
  
"You are better, George. You're marked. For me."  
  
"You're a hopeless romantic."  
  
"Yes." Remus leaned over and kissed him lightly, the gesture mostly unnoticed in the cacophony of the revelry going on around them. "You are too, you just haven't realised it yet."  
  
"Bloody sentimental poof." George grinned.  
  
"Takes one to know one."  
  


***


End file.
